Medical Bandwagons
by KylaRyan
Summary: Poor Watson, everyone seems to think he's everything but a doctor...Rated T as a precaution.
1. Prostitute

**Title:** Prostitute  
**Characters:** (in this chapter) S. Holmes, J. Watson  
**Summary:** Only Holmes would think Watson could pass as a prostitute...  
**Warnings:** Could be mistaken for slash; Nonsexual References to Bondage in Sexual Situations; If you're uncomfortable saying the proper names of human reproductive organs, you _probably_ shouldn't be reading this story  
**Author's Notes:** I just love this one to bits.

Watson felt a chill run up his spine as Holmes gave him a calculating look, as he entered their shared sitting room after a long day treating sniffles, broken bones, and other mundane ailments. That look always boded ill for its unfortunate subject--a fact engrained in Watson's memory by the many times the detective had given the doctor that look over the years.  
"Whatever you're thinking of asking me to do, the answer is no, Holmes," he growled, futily hoping to avoid having to do anything embarrassing yet again in one of Holmes' cases.  
"You don't even know what it is I'm thinking of asking you to do," Holmes pointed out in amusement.  
"You've got that look," Watson shot back. "I don't even need to know the details to know it's something embarrassing."  
"You may want to think about changing your mind, Watson, after you hear what I have in mind," his friend remarked, giving him a sharp look as he spoke.  
Knowing he would fully regret it later, Watson asked him what he had in mind.  
"I need your help in interviewing a potential witness to the Coldwell Murder, Watson," he replied. "But I don't want him knowing that he's being interviewed."  
"I am a doctor, Holmes, not a prostitute," Watson said warningly, remembering the last time Holmes had asked him for assistance in interviewing a witness without the witness knowing that they were being interviewed.  
"I've heard that derbies are becoming quite popular in the brothels since you used mine to restrain--"Holmes began, but Watson quickly interupted him, his cheeks burning in embarrassment at the reminder of that particular incident.  
"What did you want my help for, Holmes?" he demanded icily.  
Holmes smirked at Watson.  
"I need you to watch my back while I solicit some information from regulars at that brothel near your practice," he replied. "I think you will have to pose as my owner."  
"Your what?!" he exclaimed in shock, doubting what he had just heard.  
"I'm going to pose as a sex slave, and you are going to sell me to the owner of that brothel," Holmes clarified.  
"What?!"  
"Are you going to faint, Watson?"  
THUD!  
"I guess that's a yes..."


	2. Patient

**Title:** Patient  
**Characters:** (in this chapter) S. Holmes, J. Watson, M. Holmes  
**Summary: **Watson comes down with a cold, Holmes gets pneumonia to spite him. Or something like that.  
**Author's Notes:** This one was probably slightly inspired by "A Brother Noble" by KCS and Protector of the Grey Fortress.

_Mycroft_  
ACHOO! CRASH!  
Sherlock hardly even looked up at the sound of breaking china, and I wondered if he even heard his friend swearing in a language I had never heard before.  
"Sherlock, you really should let the Doctor get some rest," I remarked, for all the good it would do. "Taking care of your pneumonia is making his cold worse."  
Sherlock glared at me.  
"Watson is ever a doctor, never a patient," he rasped at me, paraphrasing an oft-made complaint of his friend's. "I'd sedate him if I could, but he won't let me near enough to his bag to sneak some sleeping powder out of it unnoticed."  
"Perhaps he will allow me the chance," I remarked idly.  
It wasn't long before I got my chance to sneak some sleeping powder from the doctor's bag, while he was busy trying to convince Sherlock to drink some foul-smelling concoction.

* * *

_Watson_  
I was grateful for the cup of hot tea that Mycroft handed me after I returned to the sitting room after helping Holmes into bed, burning my mouth by downing the whole cup in a single gulp.  
"Is he asleep?" Mycroft asked after I had finished a second cup of tea.  
Stifling a yawn, I nodded.  
As the fogginess of sleep pressed ever harder on my senses, a sudden thought blazed thru my muddled mind--Mycroft had drugged me!  
Mycroft must have been aware of my sudden realization, for he said, "I'm sorry, Doctor, but you need to rest, you're no good to Sherlock if you're dead on your feet."  
Knowing that he was right, even if I didn't want to rest while Holmes was still ill, I allowed myself to finally succumb to Morpheus...


End file.
